‘A few is not enough.’
‘If I get what I expect from Agayans, we can provide cellmates for a lot of those you’ve already put into jail,’ suggested Natalia.
‘I’d like very much to see it.’
chapter 28
N atalia decided against repeating the dirty uniform ploy with Vasili Shelapin. She believed she had more upon which to work an interrogation than with Yatisyna. And the examination of the house in which Shelapin had been arrested with his lover, while fastidiously kept, was insufficiently effeminate to justify demeaning psychology. It might even have had the reverse effect. As she had with all the other arrests, however, she’d isolated Shelapin from the moment of his seizure, particularly from the boy, whose name was Yuri Maksimovich Toom and who was in the chorus of a transvestite stage show in a club close to the Arbat.
Natalia still insisted upon Shelapin wearing prison uniform and watched again through the mirror glass for signs of discomfort. There weren’t any, from Shelapin, but Natalia was caught by the attitude of the two guards. She hadn’t selected or briefed them this time. Both were men and Natalia’s impression was of respect for the gang leader. Shelapin didn’t bother with any chair-lounging performance. He surveyed the room, only once but completely, before propping himself against the table edge to look directly at his escorts. Who were unnerved. Shelapin was, she accepted, very much in control of the room. The attitude was not overtly homosexuaclass="underline" his sexual orientation was neither his boast nor his difficulty, simply his proclivity. She’d been sensible, not attempting the debasing approach: it would have been counter-productive. She had the recording volume turned up and heard perfectly the peremptory demand of someone accustomed always to being obediently answered when he asked who he would be seeing and what their rank would be. There was an irritated frown when the escorts said, apologetically, they didn’t know. Natalia was curious that his interrogator’s rank was important to Shelapin. When he asked how much longer he would have to wait – to which the uneasy men replied they didn’t know that, either – Natalia delayed her entry, to fuel his impatience. He searched the walls for a clock and when he failed to find one glanced briefly behind him, assessing the interview set-up and said he needed a chair. The escorts looked at one another, each for the other to reply: the younger finally said they weren’t responsible for the arrangement. Shelapin told them to find out who was, to get him something to sit upon. The younger one half turned towards the door before stopping to say they didn’t have the authority and would have to wait. Natalia actually leaned forward against the glass for Shelapin’s response, but he said nothing. Instead he leaned forward himself, intently studying the features of both men, each of whom wilted under the memorizing scrutiny. Enough, determined Natalia.
As she entered the room she looked hard at both guards herself before examining the gangster, which she did with the same head-to-toe distaste with which she’d regarded Yatisyna but to noticeably less effect. Shelapin remained propped against the table, examining her just as closely. Facially he was a fleshy man, heavy jowled and with pouched eyes, and she guessed the ageing body would be sagged beneath the shapeless prison issue. The obviously dyed hair was deeply black and very full, in waves.
Natalia’s file this time was thin, just the genuine arrest report. She opened it as she sat and for the benefit of the tape said, ‘You are Vasili Fedorovich Shelapin?’
‘I want a chair.’
‘You will stand.’
‘Am I supposed to be intimidated? Or impressed?’
‘You’re supposed to answer my questions.’ He hadn’t expected to be interrogated by a woman. It was an advantage.
He made a snorting, derisive sound. ‘Who are you?’
‘You are Vasili Fedorovich Shelapin?’
‘I asked who you were.’
‘My identity is no concern of yours.’
‘Frightened?’
Now it was Natalia who made the derisive sound. ‘Frightened! Of you! Why should anyone be frightened of you, Vasili Fedorovich?’
‘A lot of people are.’
‘I’m not one of them.’
‘Yet.’
Natalia thought her ridicule had scored. ‘A number of people were killed in the Pizhma robbery. The principal charge upon which you will be tried is murder, obviously. The nuclear theft also carries the death penalty…’
‘… What are you talking about?’ he broke in, impatiently.
‘You know very well what I am talking about.’
‘I don’t know anything about murders or any nuclear robbery at Pizhma.’
‘In the boot of your car – and that of Yuri Maksimovich Toom, who was with you at the time of your arrest – were found canisters of plutonium 239 stolen on the 9th of this month from a transportation train at Pizhma,’ recounted Natalia, again for the benefit of the recording.
He gave a more genuine, sneering laugh and actually directed it towards the machine. ‘Don’t be absurd! It was planted: maybe you even know by whom.’
Behind him both guards shifted uneasily. So far this recording wasn’t going to earn her any commendations, Natalia accepted. But it might do, from now on. ‘There is evidence, in addition to the canisters,’ she declared. ‘Quite separate and even more incriminating.’
‘What?’
‘Photographs.’
‘What the hell are you talking about now? What photographs?’
‘Photographs of Pizhma,’ insisted Natalia, anticipating his collapse. ‘High-definition pictures taken from a specially directed satellite showing every stage of the robbery. And showing, too, the people involved: people that can be positively identified by using developing and enlargement techniques.’ Kestler had talked of height, weight and dress identification, although not of facial recognition which she was trying to suggest without actually claiming it. If they did try to use the satellite pictures in a court hearing, which it was extremely likely they would, they couldn’t logically exclude the Americans from any future progress meetings. That hadn’t been touched upon at any ministerial or operational session she’d so far attended. She’d have to mention it. She pushed aside the digression, looking up expectantly at the man.
Who laughed at her again, quite genuinely, without any sneer. ‘You’ve got photographs of the people carrying out the robbery?’
His reaction wasn’t right, not right at all! Where was the collapse, at his believing he was trapped? ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then you can release me right now. And everyone arrested with me. And all the people you picked up at Ulitza Volkhonka. You’ve tried to be too clever and fallen flat on your ass.’
Natalia had experienced a lot of bluff and a lot of bravado, more desperate last-throw attempts than she could remember. What she could very definitely remember, because she was proud of it, was that she’d never made a mistake separating genuine details from bluster. And her gnawing impression here, wrong though it had to be, was that Shelapin wasn’t at all desperate and wasn’t trying to bluff. Working to match his condenscension, she said, ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Because those photographs prove I wasn’t involved. Nor any of my friends.’
‘What about the canisters?’
‘Is it likely, even if I’d organized the robbery, which I didn’t, that I’d leave that stuff lying around in the trunk of my own car? Come on! I know it’s difficult for everyone connected with the Militia to be honest but try, just for once!’
‘They were found on your property, and on the property of people connected with you. Those, and others, will be identified from the satellite pictures. And they’ll talk: they always do in the end. And that will be sufficient to put you in front of a firing squad.’
‘No, it won’t!’ he said. ‘It might have been, by itself, fit-up though it was. But now I know about the photographs. You’ve given me the perfect way to prove your bullshit lies are just that, bullshit and lies. I’ll insist they’re produced! And you won’t be able to identify me on anything they show. Nor anyone linked to me. You stupid, silly bitch. You’ve really fucked up, haven’t you?’